


The Presence of Fate and Lack of Expectations

by imperiality (orphan_account)



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Ireland, Irish missionary trips :), Not that I would have any personal experience, OOC, but let me have this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 07:54:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14996285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/imperiality
Summary: On a missions trip to Ireland, Allura goes to watch The Game on the spur of a moment. She goes without any expectation. She gets more than she could have thought or hoped.





	The Presence of Fate and Lack of Expectations

**Author's Note:**

> forgive typos and stuff

Allura holds many pieces of advice close to her heart. “When you’re on stage, assume at least one person is watching you at all times”, “Don’t chase a cat, let it come to you” and “You can’t please everyone” are some up there. Each piece invaluable as the last. She’d take each of them to the grave.

She never thought “Keep your expectations low” would be the piece upon which she would most rely on this trip. She would have never thought it, yet she finds herself repeating it at least twice an hour. Invaluable. Scolding even, sometimes in its necessity.

_No expectations, Allura. No expectations, no romanticizing, no disappointment._ She held her own heart on lock-down. No sense in building herself up just to be let herself down. No sense in making the trip or her experience or herself any bigger than they had to be.

Everywhere around Ireland she went, she promised to take it as it came. So far, the never-ending green and the wonderful people have remained true to others’ testimonies, but she stopped the comparisons there. She thought no more of it. A city is just a city. A bus is just a bus , a church is just a church, and a sheep is just a damn sheep.

Maybe the Guinness tastes more pure coming straight from the source. Maybe the accents were stronger and thicker than she prepared herself for and okay, maybe she thought some things would be one way but _are_ another but… Maybe. Maybe sometimes a face is not just a face.

In the mornings, Allura wakes up bright and early to eat breakfast with her group, then they all set out to do mission work throughout the day. In Ireland, the sun feels white and the sky has a way of making the soul feel grey or silver inside and out. The city is terribly bustling but a 15 minute ride out brings her to the heart of the country and she swears she can _taste_ the green.

In the afternoons, lunch with the group is either quiet and weary or loud and untamable. It really depends on if they work with the kids that day. Allura was out of her depths with how much- (what did her group call it?) _Clap-back_ , that’s right- she would need when working with them.

Allura was out of her depths in the strength she would need to keep her eyes fixed in front of her. Or rather, how much strength it required to not give her lookers-on the time of day.

_Fleeting looks and passing glances is absolutely not the reason you’re here, silly girl._

“No expectations” becomes increasingly difficult when there’s so many what if’s to pursue.

The evenings make the mantra easier to remember. In the evening, Allura can choose to stay at the lodge and turn in for the night, where she stops all enabling of exception at its root. The good majority of her group chooses to go out, indulges in the night life and let themselves forget things don’t have any deeper meaning. They forget that a drink is just a drink. That new is just different. That there isn’t anything more than what _is_ , sometimes.

Allura will concede that her friends come back looking different. Looking more. Is it the nightlife, she wonders. Maybe it is simply the new and the different and the culture that brings out their glow.

One night, she finds herself wanting to join in.

_What’s wrong with wanting to glow, too?_

She brings her phone and wallet and ID as she walks with her group to the bus stop, leaving her _bloody expectations_ at the lodge.

_What’s wrong with wanting to thrive in the night?_

The whole walk to the pub, her friends slag and tease her. _Look at this party animal, Allura!_ She laughs. _You’ll sing us a bar song, won’t you_? Not unless they sing one with her. _You’ll finally relax, right?_

Well. Allura had thought she was relaxed this whole time. Evidently not.

When they walk through the pub doors, Allura immediately takes back everything she said about things being just the way they were. She takes back every notion of possible relaxation. She rescinds every idea of lacking expectation and keeping her heart on ground level. As they walk around tables and towards the bar, the woman’s heart skyrockets with labyrinth-levels of possibility.

Outside, her lungs constricted with the storm clouds of smoke around her. Inside, the sloshing of beer and drinks lacquer thickly in her nose and on her tongue. The beginning of… something is threading in Allura’s mind, but she doesn’t know what.

She and her friends take their seats at the bar, watching The Game and cheering for the team that the pub seems to be reacting more kindly to. Each and everyone of them get waters, sodas or Shirley Temples, paying no mind to the bartender’s sly and crooked smirk. Each and everyone of them, save for Allura, seem oblivious to the gazes their group has garnered. What’s more is that her friends’ ignorance is entirely deliberate. She keeps progress on her friends more than the television, watching the girls and their increasing male attention. She watches as a man would look over, attempt to wink or wave or _something,_ only for the lady to turn her head hastily away.

_Huh._

Allura nudges her friend Shay’s arm.

“That blonde at the table at 4 o’clock-“ she gestures her head, “has been trying to get your attention for the past like, 10 minutes.”

But Shay only giggles. It’s hard to hear over the roaring and jeering of the din, so Allura sees it more than embraces it.

“What, what’s so funny?”

Her friend’s shoulders jostle some more. “Oh nothing.” Allura isn’t buying it, so Shay continues. “Dear Allura, I know the poor man has been trying to catch my eye for a while, but his eyes may remain wandering for however long they please.”

Allura snorts over her sprite. “And what does that mean?”

“Ah, that is right. You have not joined us previously while we have been out. See, this happens at every pub to which we go, but all of us have chosen to ignore it.” Shay stirs her straw in her drink. “That is not why we are here.Right?”

This, Allura knows most acutely. With all her knowledge, her thoughts come back to hit her full-force, double-fold.

_What’s wrong with wanting to glow, too_?

Surely her friends could spare just a couple of hours letting loose, right?

_What’s wrong with wanting to thrive in the night?_

Just in the evening, perhaps they could afford to let their group get a little bigger?

Another thought, unbidden like the first two comes to knock Allura down with its simplicity.

_Surely a little conversation couldn’t hurt?_

Allura looks back to her group’s faces. If they’re not wholly engrossed with the game, they’ve turned to the side and are chatting with each other, or with another patron close by.

So there it is! Conversation. Socializing. Being comfortable with the locals and the nightlife; this is exactly what Allura meant.

Another score is won by the pub’s favored team, and the entire building _erupts_ in cheers. The slapping of palms and crashes of hearty embraces resound everywhere their echos can reach.Allura suddenly realizes where the _glow_ comes from.

Just as she’s coming back down from it, releasing her hold on Pidge’s and Plaxum’s hands, the glow settles in her less like a warmth. It hits her more like a shock.

From across the floor, her eyes catch someone else’s. She can’t make out their color; it’s too dark in the pub and they’re too dark themselves. It makes her want to look deeper. Investigate.

From across the floor, the smiling patron raises his pint, takes a sip and looks back down to his own group.

When Allura turns her neck back to face her group, Shay’s already met her eyes with a knowing grin. She caught the whole thing. Allura stiffens her spine so she doesn’t shrink down.

Too bad she doesn’t have to say a thing for her to be caught.

“Allura,” says Shay. “Just because Pidge proposed that we not divert our attention, and just because I am engaged, does not prohibit you from-“ she crafts her sentence as masterfully as she can. “From making conversation, yourself.”

If only validation was the thing for which Allura sought.

Out of curiosity, (or what she’s making herself call curiosity), she peeks again to see the stranger’s eyes. Just to know what color they are. Just to sate her curiosity.

It all bleeds into dangerous territory too quickly. What is she hoping, wanting, expecting to see? She looks back to her friend. Accidentally catches eyes with the stranger, again. Whips her head back down to the bar.

Again, Shay catches it all. Only this time is worse, because not only did Shay catch Allura’s flickering gaze, but so did Pidge and Plaxum, too.

_Oh, damn._

Immediately, Pidge crowds into Allura’s space. She rattles off question after question. “Who was that?” “You think he’s cute?” “Have you seen him before?” She tries to block it out, tries harder not to blush. “Oh, you see him walking over?”

That last one has her looking up.

True to Pidge’s heckling, the dark-eyed patron slinks closer to Allura’s group. He smiles and nods to almost every person he bumps into or walks around, like he knows all their names.

_Like he’s working a crowd._

For the first few steps, Allura slowly raises her eyes from down up about his appearance. Then she remembers a man, not a mannequin, and abruptly swivels to face the bartenders.

_No one saw a thing._

No one… oh. Except the approaching man, of course. He plants himself right between Allura’s and Pidge’s stool, leaning his arms over the edge.

_Navy blue._

His eyes, of course.

And course, now that Allura has fulfilled her burning curiosity, there is no reason to be further intrigued to this person. No reason, except for the fact that he whips out a:

“Hey so uh, do you believe in love at first sight or should I walk by again?”

To which Allura is so thoroughly unprepared, she doesn’t know how to respond. It is shameful and sinful how fluidly the line came out of his lips, but Allura is still too shocked to say as much.

Pidge groans in Allura’s stead.

The man turns to face her, combs his fingers through his hair and says “ Yeah, yeah. You’re right. That was pretty bad, I promise I have better but uh-“ he coughs. “For real, I’m just here to get the next round for my pals.”

_But what? What was he about to say?_

“Pals? Where’s your accent, where are you from?” Pidge rests her head in her hands, squinting up to the man’s face.

“Ah, you caught me, there.” He tells the bartender his order then turns to face Pidge. “Like I’m assuming as with you lovely ladies,” he looks to Allura (was that a wink?) “I’m from the states. East coast, that’s my home.”

The group needles him, shouting “west coast, west coast” as he just laughs and shakes it all off.

Finally, he turns to face Allura fully. “The name’s Lance. Are you west coast, too?”

She snickers, “Well I’m certainly not from Ten-ne-ssee if that’s what you were wondering.”

Lance nearly drops his drinks as he barks out raucous laughter, surprised and scandalized.“A tough crowd!” He crowds closer to Allura’s space. “Since you seem to like the lines so much, you mind if I tell you some more?”

Allura looks to Lance’s face, then to the bartender. “I thought you had to get drinks for your?”

He just shrugs. “If they really want them, they can get them.”

Around her, Allura’s group has gone completely silent, raising their brows in unified assumption. They say _hmmm_ in a tone she doesn’t like in the least. She ignores their looks and brows and expressions, concentrating her attention to Lance and Lance alone.

Shay said there was nothing wrong with conversation. Very well. _Conversation_ she will make without reserve with her new friend.

“Very well.”

And their conversation goes very well. True to his word, Lance pulls out every cringe-y pick up line he knows. (Some, Allura would be ashamed to say, she would have fallen for.) With each line, Allura finds herself smiling more. With each smile, she finds Lance opening up more. Stepping in closer. Diverging the conversation more.

“So what brings you to Ireland?”

“Missions trips, you?”

“How hard would you roll your eyes if we said cross-country pub-crawling?”

Before she has time to consider which one of three responses to go with, Lance saves his own hide.

“We’re all studying abroad.” He points to a table a little ways to Allura’s right. “My motley crew.”

With each story, Allura finds herself having to ask more and more questions. More inquisitions arise to be resolved. Each score won brings the pub body closer together, ratchets up the volume but Allura has already long honed in on Lance’s voice exclusively. She couldn’t pay less mind to the cheering and screaming beside her. She couldn’t make herself focus on the game playing on the television above her.

She doesn’t care out the out, only the in. Allura wants to get further in this conversation with Lance. She wants to get further in Lance’s space. She wants to dig deeper in Lance’s gaze.

It’s broken, fractured slightly when one by one, Lance’s crew decides to walk over and introduce themselves to Allura’s. It’s beautiful fusion of east and west. It makes Allura want to take a step back and watch it all unfold. Enjoy the camaraderie. Let herself be above the moment, so she can really savor the moment while not being fully _in_ the moment.

But all too soon, the game ends. All too soon, the quiet ascends and the girls check their phones for time. The guys are saying their goodbyes. The girls are tugging at Allura’s arm, urging her to _come back to the lodge, we’ve got an early morning tomorrow._

But the woman doesn’t want to leave. She only just met Lance, and she wants to see where their _conversation_ could have led. She swears, the light is so potent and embedded in the atmosphere, the glow is visibly radiating off everyone around her. She swears she can see it shining out from everyone’s eyes.

The night was dangerous, after all.

She was expecting more.

She expected… different. She _wasn’t_ expecting Lance, but now that he’s made himself known, she’s finding herself already making so many assumptions regarding him. She assumed her time would last longer. She assumed… well she doesn’t know. More, different, different, _better._

_How could this night have possibly gone any better?_

How is definitely the question.

Allura thinks she has one idea.

Tightly she grasps Lance’s arm before she can be pulled away by her own group. She whips out her phone and thrusts it towards his chest.

“I’m only in Ireland for about a week more, but we should meet again.”

_Good grief, Allura! From wherever is this bravery coming from?_

She doesn’t know if she wants to call it bravery, yet. Just brazenness.

Lance looks down to her phone, back up to her eyes. To her phone. Her eyes. If Allura didn’t know any better, if Lance’s skin were any lighter, she’d be inclined to say that… is that-

“Yeah. Yeah, okay. Okay, yeah sure. Let’s do it.”

Gingerly he takes the phone from the woman’s hands.

- _It is! The poor boy is blushing!_

Delicately he hands the phone back, and _wonderful, now I’m blushing, too._

From the pub doors, Plaxum and Pidge wave Allura over with urges hands. _Hurry up,_ they mouth but truthfully, Allura is not terribly inclined to move faster than a drag. From the bar, Lance’s friends wave him over to join them again, but they’ve been caught once again. Caught up in the moment, in the light. Allura is not overwhelmingly desiring to see the glow dim before her.

She’s also not keen on making promises she can’t keep, but she can’t keep the words withheld before they tumble out.

“I’ll see you again, alright?”

But they make Lance beam to _blinding._ “I’ll look forward to it.”

And for that, she doesn’t know if she could have lived without saying them.

She feels Plaxum’s hands around her wrists, pulling her away from the pub back to the stop to catch the last bus of the night. She doesn’t do something so foolish as waving Lance goodbye when she walks out the building. No, she acts infinitely worse. For the whole bus ride home, she sits in silence, thinking and ruminating on the night still moving around her. About the curious color of Lance’s eyes and the warm tones in his hair and skin.

She spends the whole bus ride thinking of when she’ll meet him next.

Her team gives her the space she needs, but she knows they’re all going to grill her at breakfast. Even with that thought in the back of her mind, she finds herself completely ready to answer their questions. Excited, even. Excited, because she knows she’ll only have one thing to say.

“So you and that guy Lance, huh? Are you going to text him up?” “Are you really going to meet Lance again?” Her friends will ask, “How was your first night out? Everything you thought it would be?”

To which she’ll simply answer,

“ _I just went in without any expectations."_

 


End file.
